He had written it when fortified by the child's black eyes, and some excellent Rudesheim she had insisted upon drinking. It was all up between Gabrielle and him—it had been all up long ago, and well enough for both of them that it should be. She would marry the American and spend his money like one o'clock! Harry was sure of this, though he had some qualms when he remembered that Faber had sailed from Southampton and intimated very plainly that the date of his return was distant.
It was wonderful how frankly he and Maryska discussed this very matter. The daughter of Louis de Paleologue knew little of the sacrament of marriage but a great deal of the sociology of the studio. Her doctrine recognised the passion and the pathos of love, but the bonds it inspired were personal, and had little to do with the priest. If a man did not love a woman, he left her and sought another. There were neither scenes nor scruples. Sometimes the woman would rage fearfully for a day, but her anger soon passed and calm fell. In this case she did not think there would be any anger, and she was right. There was merely humiliation.
Verily a heavy blow fell upon that little house in Hampstead when the telegram came. It was so like Gordon Silvester with his large faith in human nature, and his habit of making a fetish of a public school education; so like him to believe it all mere high spirits and to declare that the pair of them would be home to dinner. Gabrielle knew the truth from that moment. The ship that drifted upon the ocean of a "boy and girl" infatuation had come to harbour. She would not hide it either from her father or herself, whatever the cost to her pride.
"I expected nothing less!" she said to Silvester, when he ran into her boudoir with the telegram and tried to make a jest of it. "It was in the child's blood. We cannot be responsible."
Silvester threw himself into an arm-chair, and began to swing a leg as was his habit.
"Responsible for what? Don't you see it's a childish freak? Of course, they ought not to have done it. I must cut down all this liberty now that Faber has gone. She's to give me an account of her day, and no going out at all unless you or I know. Really, it's too bad of Harry!"
Gabrielle went to the window, still holding the telegram in her hand. Her lips quivered, but she spoke apparently without emotion.
"At least, he will behave honourably," she said. "I have no fear upon that point. He will marry her at once, father; he cannot do less."
Silvester laid back his head upon the cushion and surveyed a ceiling not ill-painted by a one-time zealous amateur.
"Marriage is a great institution, my dear; I don't find it a fitting subject for jest."